


Written In The Stars

by portraitofemmy



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, PG-13 for action violence and some swearing.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofemmy/pseuds/portraitofemmy
Summary: Repost for archival purposes:Approximately 200 years in the future, humanity is held in a kind of virtual slavery by a species called The Ashanti. What originally started as a trade agreement became a stepping stone for The Ashanti to gain galaxy supremacy. Four young men, whose lives are set against this backdrop of danger and galaxy turmoil, embark on a journey that will bring them together. A resistance fighter named Ryan Ross, his engineer and lover Jon Walker, an undercover agent and Ryan’s best friend Spencer Smith, and Brendon Urie, a boy raised on a desert colony, set out on an adventure that bridges the very fabric of space.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's done. =) I can't believe I actually finished it. Epic thanks to [](https://afterxbirth.livejournal.com/profile)[afterxbirth](https://afterxbirth.livejournal.com/)for being my cheering squad, sounding board, and constant encouragement. My commas are belonging to [](https://minus-four.livejournal.com/profile)[minus_four](https://minus-four.livejournal.com/). I hope you guys like this one, I know I do. =)

_In the year 2113, not long after the first colonization of Terra Luna, humans had their first encounter with the Ashanti. A galactic super power, the Ashanti offered humans their friendship and protection in this brave new world, in exchange for colonization and trade rights. The humans, suddenly finding themselves players in a game they didn't understand, happily agreed to the Ashanti's proposal._  
   
However, with the backing of an entire planet's labor through forced colonization and resources acquired through unfair trade, the Ashanti used humans as a stepping stone for galactic conquest. As conditions worsened for humans, pockets of organized rebellion joined together in a group calling themselves the resistance. These freedom fighters hoped to over throw the Ashanti and stop the abuse of humans across the galaxy.   
\-----   
      Dalton IV, in the Dinalie cluster, was entirely covered in sand. The desert planet was naturally devoid of humanoid life, though a few spares and hardy plants gave it a sufficient amount of oxygen to allow colonization. The regions of the planet close to the equator reached daytime temperature too hot for any kind of life, and both poles dropped far below habitable temperature at night. This left only a small band of habitable desert land in both hemispheres that was suitable to support humanoid life.

      Spencer Smith had to admit, though, that he couldn’t see why anyone would _want_ to live here. He looked down at the planet from the closest view port, at its red gold shimmer. Surely trying to live there would be more toil than reward. Though... as an outer rim planet, Dalton IV was relatively free from Ashanti interference. That kind of freedom Spencer could only imagine.  

      Following that line of thought, Spencer glanced over at the Ashanti officer he was designated to protect. Even on the surface, the Ashanti looked distinctly different from humans. Vaguely reptilian, they had rough, scale-like skin. They were without hair, though bipedal and similar to humans in height. For the most part though, looking at them still made Spencer’s skin crawl.  

      Spencer was one of about three hundred humans on the Ashanti battle cruiser he was currently assigned to. Humans were used as infantry in battle, treated much like firearms; valuable, but disposable. Unlike most of his human counterparts, however, Spencer was in a position that would usually hold some rank. He was a member of the captain’s personal guard, a position that would have him out ranking many of the Ashanti crewmen. If a human could have held rank, that is. Still, it gave him access to a lot of valuable information; information that the resistance couldn’t get anywhere else. Thinking about the resistance sent a jolt of worry shoot up Spencer’s spine. 

      Spencer sighed, turning to look back at the planet. That’s why they were here, after all. One of the settlements on the Northern Hemisphere had been reported to be harboring resistance fighters. The Ashanti planned on making an example of them. 

      Unbidden, the image of a young man with light brown hair and ochre eyes floated through Spencer’s mind. It was a mental image of his best friend Ryan, from the last time Spencer had seen him. About six months previous, Spencer had been granted some unexpected leave while the Ashanti captain he guarded was recalled home for some type of award. Spencer hadn’t really paid attention to why he was being given time off, he just concentrated on enjoying the freedom. Somehow, though, Ryan had been able to find him on the random planet he’d decided to visit. Spencer really shouldn’t have been surprised. Ryan was good at what he did. 

      Even though Spencer knew his best friend was on the other side of the quadrant, he couldn’t help but picture the other freedom fighters down on the planet surface. They might be people Ryan knew - they might even be friends of his. Ryan didn’t tell Spencer much, even when he could safely get a sub-space comm through to him. Spencer knew it wasn’t that Ryan didn’t trust him, it was just too risky. The people down there, they were just like Ryan; freedom fighters. It was only made worse by the presence of all those civilians about to be annihilated on the surface of the planet bellow.  
   
      Behind him, the captain began barking orders to the tactical station, and Spencer turned away from the view port, fixing his eyes instead on the control readout in front of him. Better to witness the massacre in cold hard facts then watch the colony get ripped apart. Ship to ship communication beeped back and forth across the screen as the fleet prepared for the assault.  

      Then came an order to all vessels from the Admiral’s flagship, and Spencer’s screen lit up with weapons fire. Dalton IV was going to burn.  
   
\-----   
      Ryan Ross was one of the last humans to have grown up on the Terra Lunar Colony. He was thirteen when the Ashanti disbanded the colony, relocating all the settlements so that the moon’s surface could be drilled for Krylatine, the ore used to power space going vessels. Ryan’s family had been living in the New Nevada settlement, site of the infamous massacre. The entire settlement of colonists, who refused to leave the homes they’d worked so hard to build, had been brutally slaughtered.  

      One of the few survivors of the attack that had killed almost a million people, Ryan had been rescued from the wreckage of the colony by resistance fighters. He’d been fighting for the resistance ever since, developing a reputation for quick thinking and courage. He had grown up street smart in the way only colony children could, and the skills gave him an edge as a resistance fighter.

      It was on a recon mission gone horribly wrong that the then sixteen year old Ryan had met Spencer Smith. Spencer was a year younger then Ryan, a lonely human boy drafted into the Ashanti military. He found Ryan trapped in the cargo hold of the ship he was serving on, arm broken and bleeding from the head. Instead of turning in the young resistance fighter, he’d helped Ryan escape, and had been working as an informant for the resistance ever since. Spencer was one of the few people Ryan trusted implicitly.  
   
      The other was Jon Walker. Ryan was twenty one when he’d met Jon, a freight ship human, who was born and raised on a merchant ship which was later destroyed by an Ashanti battle cruiser. Jon had a natural knack with machines, and when Ryan had been given his own two-man starship, the _Camisado_ , Jon had been the natural choice for a shipmate. Their connection had progressed so quickly from companions to friends to lovers that Ryan barely had time to register the shift.  

      They worked well together. They always had. And it was soothing to Ryan, just the two of them alone on their ship. It felt more like home then anything else Ryan could remember. It was a dangerous lifestyle, sure, but the days - sometimes weeks of uninterrupted deep space travel were hardly stressful.  

      Curled up in a chair at the front of the ship’s cabin, Ryan couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. The lights of the ship’s controls blinked softly at him, a running status report of the ship’s progress through space. Habit (or paranoia) had Ryan checking the scanner every so often for approaching ships, but for the most part he let the ship fly itself.  

      His attention was fixed instead on the data pads scattered around the console in front of him. They held the latest information from all over the quadrant, collected from secure resistance wave channels at the last time they dropped out of hyperspace. A mix of worry and anger twisted in Ryan’s stomach as he read report after report of new attacks, new imprisonments, and new ridiculous laws set firmly against humanity from all over the galaxy. It seemed like conditions for their species just kept getting closer and closer to out right slavery.  

      Sighing, Ryan pushed aside the pad he’d been reading. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he looked around the dark cabin. Rubbing his eyes, Ryan tried to ignore the stiffness that seemed to have settled into his body, old battle wounds aching with phantom pains. Gods only knew how long he’d been curled up like that. The dull bumps and clangs of Jon puttering around in the engine room beckoned to him, and he carefully unfolded his long limbs from the seat. 

      Methodically, Ryan stretched the kinks out of the muscle in his arms and back, before turning and exiting the cabin. Their ship was fairly small, simply a control cabin, a combined mess hall and living area, their quarters and refresher unit, and the engine room at the back of the ship. It took Ryan less then three minutes to walk from one end of the ship to the other.  
   
      Jon was kneeling down in front of one of the control panels on the far side of the room, puttering with what looked like the shield generator. With anyone else it would make Ryan nervous to have them tampering with something so vital to the protection of the ship, but Jon would only make them safer and Ryan knew that.  

      He stopped at the entrance; leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, and watched Jon work for a while. It made something close to contentment swell in his chest and a small smile settle on to his face.  

“I know you’re there, you know,” Jon said conversationally without turning around. 

      Ryan smiled for real then, pushing away from the door frame to walk into the room. He reached out to the other man, carding his fingers through dark brown hair. Jon’s hair was getting long again, both of theirs’ was. “We should put into port soon,” Ryan observed absently.  

      Jon hummed slightly, shaking his head. “Not too soon. Not until we’re in the outer rim, at least. You know they’re stepping up security against unmarked vessels.” Ryan did know. He’d just spent over an hour reading about it. 

      With a sigh, Ryan dropped down to sit next to Jon, leaning his back up against an access panel. Thinking about the resistance right now made his head hurt. “It just gets harder and harder,” he whispered quietly.  

      “Hey now,” Jon said, turning to look at Ryan for the first time. “We’re making progress. The Ashanti had to withdraw all their troops from the Menshara sector. And Zarillious V is ready too collapse with the right pressure. That’ll be a huge blow to them.” 

      It didn’t feel like it sometimes, Ryan thought bitterly. “I guess that’s what I get for working in recon, right? All the bad, and most of the time it seems to out weigh the good.”  

      Jon smiled, reaching out to brush greasy fingers against Ryan’s cheekbones. He couldn’t bring himself to mind the smudges they’d leave behind. “That’s what you got me for. Pull you out of the well of unsolvable problems, and point out the ones you can actually fix. Well, that and make sure you don’t get blown up,” Jon chuckled, waving vaguely at the shield generator.  

      Ryan snorted, leaning forward to rest his head against Jon’s shoulder. “My hero,” he teased, and Jon laughed, pulling him into a hug.  
   
      Warmth seeped into Ryan as he curled in against the older man. The perpetual cold of space never seemed to reach Jon, he was always warm and smelled of engines and soap and fabric. It soothed the nerves grated by wading through report after endless report. Gentle fingers against his jaw guided Ryan’s head up, and he melted into the kiss Jon offered.  

      Humming happily, Ryan let his hands drift up to tangle in Jon’s hair. Jon’s own fingers danced across Ryan’s jaw, up and down his neck as they kissed. Reluctantly, Jon broke away, nuzzling his nose against Ryan’s sweetly. It made Ryan laugh. “I shouldn’t leave the shields down,” Jon muttered against Ryan’s lips. Ryan nodded, leaning in to steal another kiss.  
   
      Laughing, Jon pushed Ryan away gently with hands braced against Ryan’s shoulders. “Seriously, Ry...” 

      Smiling at the nickname, Ryan sat back and let Jon work.    
\-----   
      This was the part Spencer hated most about being assigned to a battle ship. The Ashanti couldn't risk leaving survivors behind on colonies they'd made examples of. They felt it showed weakness. So, after every attack, the humans of the ship along with a couple of low ranking Ashanti officers, were sent down to the surface to make sure there was no one left alive. There never was. 

      Still, Spencer hated it. He hated walking through the wreckage of settlements, looking at the bits of lives destroyed in the blink of an eye. It always made him think of his own family, who he hadn't heard from since he was sixteen. It made him think of Ryan's family, murdered in the same way as these innocent people.  

      The sand was scorched under Spencer's regulation boots, blowing in the dry wind. The air smelled like ash and the stink of ozone split by the plasma gun. Silence was settled like a blanket over the land devoid of life. Spencer's chest ached as he looked around the ruins of the houses. 

      There wasn't much for him to do but wander through the buildings. He'd been on what felt like hundreds of these recons and there had never been anyone left alive. Absently, he made his way into the closest house. It was more intact then most of the house had been thus far. Spencer guessed that the family had probably been solar-farmers, collecting power from the sun to power the village. That would explain why the building might have had extra radiation shielding.  

      He moved slowly through the remnants of the house, looking around. Scattered on the floor were everyday objects; plates, mechanical tools, the occasional child's toy. Spencer winced, eyes fixing on the burnt remains doll lying by the table. This family had had children young enough to play with dolls and model ships.  

      Methodically, he picked his way toward the back of the dwelling. Towards the rear something caught Spencer's eye, tucked against the back wall. It was a musical instrument of some type Spencer didn't recognize. Protected in its little alcove, the instrument was mostly unharmed. Carefully, Spencer reached out to brush his fingers over it. 

      A clattering sound coming from behind him startled him, and he jerked his hand back from the instrument. He knew he was the only member of the landing crew in this area, the rest having spread out to other parts of the settlement. Cautiously, he looked around, hand falling to the club strapped to his side. Humans weren't allowed to have guns, but they were expected to bring any survivors to Ashanti officers, and were given clubs in case they need "subdue" anyone.  

      Moving quietly, Spencer made his way into the room from which the sound had originated. His eyes swept the room, taking in nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to dismiss the sound as over active imagination, then he noticed a small discoloration in the floor, barely discernible. 

      Spencer froze, eyes fixed on the patch of floor. These outer rim colonies were usually made up of simple structures, one floor sprawling out to make as much space as necessary, but very rarely moving up to two stories. Spencer had never heard of one with an underground floor. But maybe... this house had radiation shielding, which protected a lot of the interior. An underground level might not have been harmed at all. 

      Adrenaline shot headily through his veins as he moved towards the hidden trap door. It took less then a minute for him to shift the door up, and then he was face to face with the last thing he'd expected to see on this planet: a young human man.  

      Panic flashed across the young man’s face, and he was scampering back down into the cellar before Spencer had even over come the shock of finding him. The hidden room was small, barely tall enough for the man to stand in, and only wide enough to store what Spencer recognized as a solar power storage unit. He’d been right about the reason for the radiation shielding, anyway. 

      Spencer lowered the club he’d been holding, raising his hands out in front of him so the young man could see that he held no gun. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you,” Spencer assured, crouching down so he could see into the cellar.  

      Cautiously, the stranger came forward, dark eyes studying Spencer suspiciously. “You’re human,” the other man stated, eyes roving over Spencer’s face.  
   
      “I am,” Spencer nodded, trying to smile reassuringly, but his mind was racing frantically. He didn’t know what to do; he’d never even imagined a situation like this before. It was unheard of. Ashanti protocol dictated that he turn any survivors over to a supervisor, but as far as Spencer knew that was just textbook stuff. The thought of actually doing so made Spencer’s stomach twist, but finding anyone left alive was such an impossibility that Spencer wondered if this might be some kind of test of loyalty. It seemed like something the Ashanti might do. 

      The dark haired man spoke then, breaking Spencer from his thoughts. “What happened? The proximity alarms went off, and my mother sent me down here. She was going to find my sister and brother, she told me to wait for them. What’s happened?” 

      “You were attacked,” Spencer said quietly. 

      Fear and worry flashed across the young man’s features. “The colony, are they-?” 

      Spencer shook his head. “You’re the only one.” 

      The hurt that crumpled the other man’s face couldn’t be faked. Maybe Spencer was foolish to trust him, but... Spencer hated that he was always suspicious, always distrustful. It was an Ashanti quality, one they had drill into him by training him to instinctually think in tests and betrayals. Spencer swallowed, feeling cold all over. He didn’t want to loose his humanity. 

      “I’m Spencer,” he said, offering his hand down to help the other man out of the cellar. The dark haired man hesitated, looking up at Spencer with wide, scared eyes. “Trust me. I can help you.” 

      “Or you could turn me in,” the man said, eyes darting down to Spencer’s uniform then back up to his face. 

      Spencer flinched. “Anyone else would have raised an alarm already. You can take you chances with me or wait for someone else to find you.” 

      Cautiously, the man reached up, grabbing Spencer’s hand and pulling himself up. “Brendon,” he said, watching Spencer with guarded eyes. “My name’s Brendon Urie.” 

      Spencer nodded curtly, acknowledging the trust implicit in the statement. He was distracted, however, by trying to figure out what to do now. Ryan would help him, he knew that. The resistance often took in refugees, and Ryan would know a base near by where Brendon would be safe. However, getting the young man to Ryan would be a bit of an issue.  

      “How do you feel about stealing a ship?” Spencer asked, looking at Brendon. The transport craft that had carried the survey team down to the surface could be flown by one pilot, but Spencer would need Brendon’s cooperation if they were going to make it off the planet’s surface alive.  
   
      Brendon blinked at him. “It’s preferable to death.” 

      At any other time Spencer might have laughed. Now, he just nodded. “Stay with me and do exactly as I tell you.” 

      Moving through the deserted streets of the colony made Spencer edgy. He was the only guard sent to that sector, he knew, and yet he felt too exposed in the open. It would have been safer to walk in the shadows, near the skeletal ruins of the colony dwellings, but Spencer didn’t want to look like he was trying to move stealthily encase another guard did come along.  
   
      By the time they reached the small ship, Spencer was sweating from nerves. There shouldn’t have been anyone left on board, just a guard posted outside, but you could never be sure. Spencer guided Brendon into the doorway of an abandoned building facing the clearing where the ship had landed. “Stay here,” Spencer instructed, eyes darting back to the ship. “I need to get rid of the guard.” Brendon nodded. 

Squaring his shoulders, Spencer stepped out into the clearing, walking with purpose toward the ramp of the ship. The guard looked up as Spencer drew closer, and Spencer tried not to panic. The guard was an Ashanti, not a human as he had expected it to be. Still, he drew up his courage. He’d done more terrifying things before then face off against a single guard, even if the guard did have a plasma riffle.  

      Spencer walked straight up to the guard, hoping to use the element of surprise to his advantage. The guard looked weary, but not suspicious, and he didn’t raise his gun. Without pause, to think or second guess himself, Spencer grabbed his club, drawing it up over his head and bringing it crashing back down sharply at the base of the guards neck. The guard collapsed, falling to the ground without a sound. Quickly, Spencer grabbed the fallen Ashanti’s plasma riffle, throwing aside the club.  

      Turning, Spencer beckoned to Brendon, who dashed out from the doorway and ran towards the ship. Quickly, the two of them boarded the ship, and Spencer did a quick check to make sure there was no one else on board.  

      Looking to Brendon, Spencer asked, “You ever fired a plasma canon?”  
   
      Brendon shrugged a little. “We use skimmer mounted riffles to hunt animals in the desert. Should be the same principle.” 

      Spencer nodded. It would be better then nothing. If they were lucky, they would be able to get out of the planet’s gravity and jump into hyperspace before the Ashanti cruiser registered their presence on the scanners. Beckoning Brendon onto the small ship, Spencer guided him into the canon ports. “I really, really hope you won’t have to fire. But if you do, aim for the intake manifolds near the engines. It’s the weakest point in their shielding.” 

      Brendon swallowed nervously. “How many ships are here?” 

      “Only one on this part of the planet,” Spencer evaded, resting a steadying hand on Brendon’s arm. He hoped they wouldn’t be around long enough for the other ships to get involved. “Use the head set hook up to talk to me in the control room. I’ve got to head up there now.” Brendon just nodded.  
   
      Spencer had flown this kind of shuttles before, in his basic training and a couple times in the field, but never alone. In theory the ship could be run by one pilot but he’d never tried to do so. Picking up the headset, Spencer put it on, listening to the crackling white noise as it searched for a link up. “Can you hear me okay?” 

      “Yes,” came the response, small and tinny, but definitely understandable.  

      “Awesome, alright,” Spencer muttered, moving to adjust the restraint straps that would hold him in place during the take off and hyperspace jump. “Make sure you get buckled in, okay? We can’t really roam around until we’re in hyperspace. If we end up having to fight, we’ll have to go into zero G to make the ship more maneuverable.” 

      “Okay,” Brendon said calmly, followed by the distant sounds of the restraints strapping into place.  

      “Okay,” Spencer muttered, cracking his knuckles and reaching for the controls. “Here we go...”  
   
      Taking off from the planet was the easy part. There wasn’t anyone within range of the ship who would be alerted by the sounds of lift off, so they didn’t have to worry about being quiet. With the kind of ease that could only come from flight experience, Spencer coaxed the ship off the ground, keeping the thrusters level as the small craft rose into the air. 

      The colony, or what was left of it, spread on the ports as they gained altitude. Spencer was momentarily distracted by the soft swear in his ear. “Brendon?” he asked, concerned. 

      “Everything. They destroyed _everything_.” The other man’s voice was chocked with grief, and anger towards the Ashanti flashed through Spencer’s mind. 

      “I need you to focus, Brendon, or they’ll kill us too. Then no one will remember, know, or even care what happened here.” 

      Brendon mumbled some kind of affirmation, but Spencer had already stopped listening. He was punching up the external sensors on the computer input pad next to him. Hopefully, the Ashanti cruisers were in geosynchronous orbit over the settlement. If Spencer could fly the little ship into the planetary hemisphere still in the shadow of night on the other side of the world, and they might be able to use the planet’s gravitational field mask their hyperspace jump.  

      The sensors confirmed what Spencer had suspected, that the mother ship was hovering right above the destroyed colony. Sending a prayer to any deity, omnipotent life form or guiding spirit that might be listening, Spencer pulled ship up into the atmosphere.  
   
      “We’re going hypersonic,” Spencer said into the head set pick up.  
   
      The planetary surface flew by underneath them, but Spencer paid it no mind. Instead, he kept focused on the sensors, waiting until they were far enough from the bigger ship not to be noticed. A little light flashed in the corner of the control panel once they were at a sufficient distance. Deftly, Spencer pulled the ship up sharply, propelling them out of the planet’s atmosphere.  

      “This is where the fun begins. Hold on tight,” Spencer called to Brendon, dividing his attention between the sensor output and the controls to pull them into hyperspace. He selected a course at random; only making sure it took them out away from the Ashanti.  

      “Where are we going anyway?” Brendon asked, obviously nervous.  

      “Somewhere in the outer rim. There are resistance bases out there that we can lay low at until we figure out what to do,” Spencer explained, punching in the finial sequence. “Hold on, here we go,” he muttered, pushing forward a lever, sending the ship jumping into hyperspace. 

      Spencer let out a breath, leaning back into the seat and wiping off his forehead. “Okay, you can come up now,” Spencer said, pulling the head set off his head before throwing it onto the control panel. There wasn’t much for him to do now, until he could get a hold of Ryan and figure out what to do. The ship would fly itself until then. 

      At the sounds of movement behind him, Spencer swiveled around in his chair. Brendon was leaning against the door, face blank. _Shell shocked_ Spencer thought, and he smiled wearily at the other man.  

      “You look tired,” Spencer observed, and Brendon nodded mutely. “You should get some rest. We’re just going to fly around dead space for while, try to loose them. You think you can find the sleeping quarters on your own?”    
      Brendon nodded, and he started off, but paused. “Are you a resistance fighter?” he asked carefully. 

      Spencer hesitated for a moment. He’d never done much actually fighting for the resistance before, but he supposed the title fit now. “Yeah, I am.”   
\-----   
            An insistent beeping noise drew Ryan from his sleep and up into _The Camisado_ ’s cabin. Heart pounding in his chest and barely awake, Ryan tried to focus on locating the sound and determining what it meant. The ship had different chimes for different functions, but in his half asleep state Ryan didn’t recognize it.  
   
      He calmed down slight after checking the shields and sensor readouts. They weren’t under attack, nor were they losing life support systems because of a malfunction. His eyes scanned the control panels and stat displays until a small flashing light on the comm station caught his attention. No wonder he hadn’t recognized the chime, it was for an incoming transmission.  

      No one in the resistance ever contacted operatives in the field, mostly because no one could be sure that the person they were trying to contact had a secure line. Part of Ryan’s job was to check in with the nearest resistance location via subspace message whenever he felt safe doing so. No one ever contacted him.  

      Scrubbing his hands over his face in nervous frustration, Ryan glanced back towards the sleeping quarters where Jon still lay. Turning back to the monitor, Ryan keyed up the transmission encryption code, which doubled as a means of identification for resistance fighters. He hoped he’d be able to recognize the code. 

      To his surprise, he did. He opened transmission hastily, flicking it over to the main viewer. “Spencer?” 

      “Hey,” came the response, muffled a little by subspace, and the picture of a young blonde haired man appeared on the viewer. 

      A mix of joy and worry flood through Ryan. On the one hand, Ryan hadn’t seen or spoken to Spencer in half a year, other then through encrypted messages. On the other hand, it was very rare for Spencer to make an unscheduled transmission because it was so dangerous for him to do so. “Is everything alright?” Ryan asked, biting his lip.  

      Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m kind of in a jam, Ry...” 

      Ryan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Are you hurt? Do you need someone to get you out? Where are you, I can figure out how long it’s going to take for us to get to you but-” 

      “Ryan, breathe,” Spencer laughed, smiling affectionately at him through the the monitor. “I’m not hurt, and I don’t need to get out. Actually I kind of got myself out...” Spencer proceeded to explain about a mission, a colony being blow up, and an unlikely survivor. 

      “Survivor?” Ryan cut in, startled. “There are never survivors. We’ve seen hundreds of attacks like that.” 

      “I know,” Spencer nodded. “There was an underground floor and the house was protected by radiation shielding.” Ryan’s pulse rushed in excitement, filing the information away to report later. He listened as Spencer explained about rescuing the man and stealing a ship. Pride swelled within Ryan, that Spencer would always do anything he could to help another human being, but he bit it down so he could focus on his friend.  
   
      “So now I’ve got him out but I’m not entirely sure what to do with him. Do you know somewhere we can go to lay low at until the Ashanti stop looking for us?”

      Ryan hummed a little, pulling up a star chart on an auxiliary monitor. “Which direction did you leave Dalton IV in?” 

      Spencer paused, presumable to check star charts of his own. “We’re heading towards the outer rim, rather than in, if that’s helpful. 

      Ryan nodded absently. “That’s good. Inner-galactic ports are stepping up security.” He scanned the star map in front of him, mentally running through the list resistance bases he knew, and out of those, the ones he would trust. “There’s an out post on the 3rd moon of Mengyna in the Palascar system. It’s a small base, but I know the commander, Pete. You’d be safe there, if you could make it.” 

      Spencer nodded, eyes still fixed slightly off screen at his star charts. “I think I can.  Will they just let us stay there, though?” 

      Ryan shrugged. “You’re resistance, aren’t you? And even if your passenger isn’t, he’s a refugee and taking care of refugee’s is part of our job. There aren’t many soldiers there; it’s not a military camp. It’s an information and communication outpost. Actually, chances are you can be helpful to them. Sometimes it takes a while for information to reach the outer rim.” 

      Spencer nodded again. “Are you and Jon on assignment right now?” he asked after a moment. 

      Ryan shook his head. “No, we’re on patrol duty, but that’s sort of wishy-washy anyway. We’ve been meaning to find a place to dock so we can do some work on the ship and get supplies.” 

      “Think you could meet us on Mengyna 3?” Spencer asked, looking nervous. “I’m not used to this actual resistance fighter shit. Probably could use some help.” 

      Ryan smiled. “I don’t see why we couldn’t.” 

      Gratefully, Spencer smiled at Ryan from the monitor. “Thank you, Ryan.” 

      “What are friends for, right?” 

      Spencer nodded. “I suppose. I should go check on my passenger now though, make sure he’s okay.” 

      Ryan nodded, twinges of regret bubbling in his stomach. “It was good to hear from you.” 

      “See you soon.” 

      Ryan nodded, and ended the transmission. He sat back in his chair, pulling his legs up into the seat. If orbital attacks could be survived by a subterranean level and radiation shield, that would give the resistance a huge advantage against possible attacks. High risk out-posts could gain a new level of protection against orbital assault. Snagging a data pad off the console, Ryan began composing a report for his commander and contacts. He was so absorbed in the work that he didn’t notice Jon enter the cabin until the older man touched his shoulder gently.  

      “I thought we talked about this whole work insomnia thing,” Jon mumbled blearily, scooting Ryan over until they could both sit in the chair, tucked in close together. “You need to sleep more then these reports need to be filed, Ryan.” 

      Butting his head against Jon’s shoulder, Ryan smiled a little to himself. “I was asleep. Spencer called on subspace and it woke me up.”  
   
      “Is he alright?” Jon asked, sounding calm, but Ryan could hear the nervousness hidden beneath the untroubled tone.  

      Briefly, Ryan explained about the attack and the single survivor. “Spence got him out of there, but he didn’t know where to take him. I told him to head to Mengyna 3 and that we’d try to meet him there.” 

      Jon nodded, curling an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “That’s closer to them than us, right? Chances are they’re going to beat us there.” 

      “I’ll send a message to Pete so he’s expecting them.” Ryan shrugged. “There are other resistance ports around, but I don’t know anyone at them. I just...” 

      “Don’t want to send Spencer to people you don’t trust?” Jon asked dryly, a smile quirking his lips. Ryan laughed a little, nodding. “Pete’ll look after him. He owes you.” 

      “And I owe him,” Ryan muttered.  

      “He owes you more,” Jon said with a smile, kissing Ryan’s cheek softly.    
      Ryan smiled back, turning to tuck his face in against Jon’s neck. “You’re okay with going to Mengyna, yeah?” 

      “Do what you gotta do, flyboy,” Jon said, his tone fond and affectionate. “I’ll just make sure you get there in one piece.” 

\----- 

      Spencer didn't know much about the dark haired boy now sharing his ship. Aside from his name, Brendon, Spencer hadn't been able to get much out of him. He looked to be about Spencer’s age, maybe a bit younger.  

      The way Brendon was glued to the view port of the tiny ship, eyes wide in wonderment as he studied the stars, made it pretty obvious he'd never been off planet before. His silence was probably just shock, Spencer reasoned. After all, he'd just witnessed his home being blown up, everyone he knew and loved killed. He had nothing left. Sudden aches of sympathy shot down Spencer's spine.  

      Still, it felt wrong to disturb the boy’s silence, and Spencer approached him with caution.  

      “Hey,” He said quietly, speaking in the same soothing tone he’d heard Ryan use to coax spooked animals. “Are you hungry? I made some soup... I mean, it’s not real soup, just rations, pre-packaged ‘just add water’ shit, but... at least it’s warm?” Spencer finished lamely. Space was cold, and the little craft they’d stolen didn’t have a very good environmental system. As far as Spencer could tell, the atmospheric systems were working, so at least they had air, but the temperature was definitely running a little cool.  

      Brendon looked at Spencer warily, almost shyly, like he was waiting for something. Spencer just held out the steaming bowl towards him, hoping that the boy would just take it. He was so tiny, smaller then Ryan in stature, and just as thin. Spencer worried that if he didn’t eat he might just disappear. Cautiously, he took the bowl from Spencer, mutter a quiet but sincere “Thank you.” 

      Trying not to sigh with relief, Spencer slid onto the ledge of the view port across from the boy. He really wanted to talk to Brendon, to learn about the young man he’d saved. There was something about him that fascinated Spencer. He wasn’t sure how to begin though. Ryan was really the only friend he had, and Jon through Ryan. He hadn’t had to make an effort to get to know another person since childhood. Back then it had been as simple as being willing to share what you had, be it food, clothes, or the precious few toys the Ashanti let human children have. Spencer supposed he was trying the same tactic now, with the soup.  

      Maybe it was just human kindness that drew people together though, because after the first couple sips of soup, Brendon smiled carefully at him. It was a small smile, but it settled warmly in Spencer’s chest. Carefully, Brendon adjusted the bowl in his lap so he could shift to face Spencer a bit more. Still his eyes flitted out to the stars. They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Brendon said suddenly, quietly, “The stars look so much brighter out here.” 

      There was so much Spencer could say to that. He could explain how the atmospheres of planets dulled the stars. Hell, he could tell Brendon the entire life cycle of a star. Those were the kinds of things the Ashanti had taught him to think. Cold, hard facts deprived of emotion, because emotion made humans dangerous. Instead he just turned to look out at them.  

      “Yeah, they are,” he whispered. It had been a long time since he stopped to just look at the stars, without considering their position as an indication of his location. It had been a long time since he just _looked_. “Sometimes, you forget. How beautiful they are.”  
   
      “I hope I never do,” Brendon said, so quietly that Spencer wondered if Brendon was even talking to him at all. Spencer turned his own eyes back to the view port, secretly hoping as well that they’d never lose their magic for Brendon. 

      They finished their soup in relative silence. Spencer was acutely aware of Brendon near him, but not in the way he was accustomed. He was used to being cautious, alert and watchful, in case someone suddenly decided he was expendable. With Brendon his was simply aware of the other body sharing his space, aware of Brendon’s shifts and movements. When Brendon trained his eyes on Spencer’s face, eyes clear with intent, Spencer turned back to look at him. 

      “Thank you,” Brendon said, tone serious. “Thank you for saving me. I don’t have anything I can pay you for the passage with, but maybe, sometime, I can get a job somewhere and then-” 

      Spencer shook his head quickly, motioning for Brendon to stop, because that wasn’t what this was about. Not at all. Brendon had it all wrong. Careful, Spencer set his empty bowl aside, and shifted a bit closer to Brendon, so he could look the other boy in the eye.  

      “My friend Jon has a saying,” he began, “He says that what makes humans and Ashanti different is that humans protect and love each other. He says that if one human doesn’t help another when they need it then we lose our humanity. You don’t have to pay me back, Brendon. That’s not what this is about.” 

      Brendon looked at Spencer warily. “Nothing comes for free.”  

      Spencer sighed, looking down. That was a colony kid speaking. Colony life was rough, especially on colonies run by the Ashanti. Ryan sounded like that so often, so reluctant to trust, to except and not ask about the price. It was what made him such a good freedom fighter, the main reason he wasn’t dead. Still, knowing the reason for Brendon’s misgivings didn’t make them any easier to swallow. He would just have to do his best to help Brendon learn to trust him. 

      Locking his eyes with Brendon’s, he said with surety “I’m not going to ask anything from you, Brendon. I’m gonna get you to a safe base, and then you’re free to do whatever you like.” He hesitated, then smiled a little. “I would like to be your friend though. I haven’t had many before.” 

      Brendon nodded a little, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Me neither,” he whispered, and Spencer could see a little bit of the tension drain out of him. Carefully, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the back of Brendon’s hand. The other man didn’t jerk away, which was a good sign, but his skin was cool to the touch. 

      Suddenly, it occurred to Spencer that Brendon had grown up on a desert planet. If the shipped seem cold to Spencer, who’d spent at least half his life in space, he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to Brendon. “Fuck, you must be freezing!” he muttered, rubbing his fingers over the skin of Brendon’s hand, trying to warm it up a bit. His eyes took in Brendon’s thin shirt, and he shivered in sympathy. 

      “Kinda,” Brendon laughed nervously. 

      Shaking his head, Spencer stood up. He didn’t let go of Brendon’s hand though, and pulled gently, urging him to stand. “Come on. They’ll be some thermal over-shirts around here somewhere.”  

      Brendon still looked a bit wary, but he allowed himself to be lead towards the living space of the small ship, and when Spencer slackened his grip on Brendon’s hand enough so that he could pull away if he wanted to, he didn’t. Spencer smiled a little, liking the feeling of Brendon’s palm against his. 


	2. Chapter 2

_In the year 2113, not long after the first colonization of Terra Luna, humans had their first encounter with the Ashanti. A galactic super power, the Ashanti offered humans their friendship and protection in this brave new world, in exchange for colonization and trade rights. The humans, suddenly finding themselves players in a game they didn't understand, happily agreed to the Ashanti's proposal._  
   
However, with the backing of an entire planet's labor through forced colonization and resources acquired through unfair trade, the Ashanti used humans as a stepping stone for galactic conquest. As conditions worsened for humans, pockets of organized rebellion joined together in a group calling themselves the resistance. These freedom fighters hoped to over throw the Ashanti and stop the abuse of humans across the galaxy.   
\-----   
      Dalton IV, in the Dinalie cluster, was entirely covered in sand. The desert planet was naturally devoid of humanoid life, though a few spares and hardy plants gave it a sufficient amount of oxygen to allow colonization. The regions of the planet close to the equator reached daytime temperature too hot for any kind of life, and both poles dropped far below habitable temperature at night. This left only a small band of habitable desert land in both hemispheres that was suitable to support humanoid life.

      Spencer Smith had to admit, though, that he couldn’t see why anyone would _want_ to live here. He looked down at the planet from the closest view port, at its red gold shimmer. Surely trying to live there would be more toil than reward. Though... as an outer rim planet, Dalton IV was relatively free from Ashanti interference. That kind of freedom Spencer could only imagine.  

      Following that line of thought, Spencer glanced over at the Ashanti officer he was designated to protect. Even on the surface, the Ashanti looked distinctly different from humans. Vaguely reptilian, they had rough, scale-like skin. They were without hair, though bipedal and similar to humans in height. For the most part though, looking at them still made Spencer’s skin crawl.  

      Spencer was one of about three hundred humans on the Ashanti battle cruiser he was currently assigned to. Humans were used as infantry in battle, treated much like firearms; valuable, but disposable. Unlike most of his human counterparts, however, Spencer was in a position that would usually hold some rank. He was a member of the captain’s personal guard, a position that would have him out ranking many of the Ashanti crewmen. If a human could have held rank, that is. Still, it gave him access to a lot of valuable information; information that the resistance couldn’t get anywhere else. Thinking about the resistance sent a jolt of worry shoot up Spencer’s spine. 

      Spencer sighed, turning to look back at the planet. That’s why they were here, after all. One of the settlements on the Northern Hemisphere had been reported to be harboring resistance fighters. The Ashanti planned on making an example of them. 

      Unbidden, the image of a young man with light brown hair and ochre eyes floated through Spencer’s mind. It was a mental image of his best friend Ryan, from the last time Spencer had seen him. About six months previous, Spencer had been granted some unexpected leave while the Ashanti captain he guarded was recalled home for some type of award. Spencer hadn’t really paid attention to why he was being given time off, he just concentrated on enjoying the freedom. Somehow, though, Ryan had been able to find him on the random planet he’d decided to visit. Spencer really shouldn’t have been surprised. Ryan was good at what he did. 

      Even though Spencer knew his best friend was on the other side of the quadrant, he couldn’t help but picture the other freedom fighters down on the planet surface. They might be people Ryan knew - they might even be friends of his. Ryan didn’t tell Spencer much, even when he could safely get a sub-space comm through to him. Spencer knew it wasn’t that Ryan didn’t trust him, it was just too risky. The people down there, they were just like Ryan; freedom fighters. It was only made worse by the presence of all those civilians about to be annihilated on the surface of the planet bellow.  
   
      Behind him, the captain began barking orders to the tactical station, and Spencer turned away from the view port, fixing his eyes instead on the control readout in front of him. Better to witness the massacre in cold hard facts then watch the colony get ripped apart. Ship to ship communication beeped back and forth across the screen as the fleet prepared for the assault.  

      Then came an order to all vessels from the Admiral’s flagship, and Spencer’s screen lit up with weapons fire. Dalton IV was going to burn.  
   
\-----   
      Ryan Ross was one of the last humans to have grown up on the Terra Lunar Colony. He was thirteen when the Ashanti disbanded the colony, relocating all the settlements so that the moon’s surface could be drilled for Krylatine, the ore used to power space going vessels. Ryan’s family had been living in the New Nevada settlement, site of the infamous massacre. The entire settlement of colonists, who refused to leave the homes they’d worked so hard to build, had been brutally slaughtered.  

      One of the few survivors of the attack that had killed almost a million people, Ryan had been rescued from the wreckage of the colony by resistance fighters. He’d been fighting for the resistance ever since, developing a reputation for quick thinking and courage. He had grown up street smart in the way only colony children could, and the skills gave him an edge as a resistance fighter.

      It was on a recon mission gone horribly wrong that the then sixteen year old Ryan had met Spencer Smith. Spencer was a year younger then Ryan, a lonely human boy drafted into the Ashanti military. He found Ryan trapped in the cargo hold of the ship he was serving on, arm broken and bleeding from the head. Instead of turning in the young resistance fighter, he’d helped Ryan escape, and had been working as an informant for the resistance ever since. Spencer was one of the few people Ryan trusted implicitly.  
   
      The other was Jon Walker. Ryan was twenty one when he’d met Jon, a freight ship human, who was born and raised on a merchant ship which was later destroyed by an Ashanti battle cruiser. Jon had a natural knack with machines, and when Ryan had been given his own two-man starship, the _Camisado_ , Jon had been the natural choice for a shipmate. Their connection had progressed so quickly from companions to friends to lovers that Ryan barely had time to register the shift.  

      They worked well together. They always had. And it was soothing to Ryan, just the two of them alone on their ship. It felt more like home then anything else Ryan could remember. It was a dangerous lifestyle, sure, but the days - sometimes weeks of uninterrupted deep space travel were hardly stressful.  

      Curled up in a chair at the front of the ship’s cabin, Ryan couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. The lights of the ship’s controls blinked softly at him, a running status report of the ship’s progress through space. Habit (or paranoia) had Ryan checking the scanner every so often for approaching ships, but for the most part he let the ship fly itself.  

      His attention was fixed instead on the data pads scattered around the console in front of him. They held the latest information from all over the quadrant, collected from secure resistance wave channels at the last time they dropped out of hyperspace. A mix of worry and anger twisted in Ryan’s stomach as he read report after report of new attacks, new imprisonments, and new ridiculous laws set firmly against humanity from all over the galaxy. It seemed like conditions for their species just kept getting closer and closer to out right slavery.  

      Sighing, Ryan pushed aside the pad he’d been reading. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he looked around the dark cabin. Rubbing his eyes, Ryan tried to ignore the stiffness that seemed to have settled into his body, old battle wounds aching with phantom pains. Gods only knew how long he’d been curled up like that. The dull bumps and clangs of Jon puttering around in the engine room beckoned to him, and he carefully unfolded his long limbs from the seat. 

      Methodically, Ryan stretched the kinks out of the muscle in his arms and back, before turning and exiting the cabin. Their ship was fairly small, simply a control cabin, a combined mess hall and living area, their quarters and refresher unit, and the engine room at the back of the ship. It took Ryan less then three minutes to walk from one end of the ship to the other.  
   
      Jon was kneeling down in front of one of the control panels on the far side of the room, puttering with what looked like the shield generator. With anyone else it would make Ryan nervous to have them tampering with something so vital to the protection of the ship, but Jon would only make them safer and Ryan knew that.  

      He stopped at the entrance; leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, and watched Jon work for a while. It made something close to contentment swell in his chest and a small smile settle on to his face.  

“I know you’re there, you know,” Jon said conversationally without turning around. 

      Ryan smiled for real then, pushing away from the door frame to walk into the room. He reached out to the other man, carding his fingers through dark brown hair. Jon’s hair was getting long again, both of theirs’ was. “We should put into port soon,” Ryan observed absently.  

      Jon hummed slightly, shaking his head. “Not too soon. Not until we’re in the outer rim, at least. You know they’re stepping up security against unmarked vessels.” Ryan did know. He’d just spent over an hour reading about it. 

      With a sigh, Ryan dropped down to sit next to Jon, leaning his back up against an access panel. Thinking about the resistance right now made his head hurt. “It just gets harder and harder,” he whispered quietly.  

      “Hey now,” Jon said, turning to look at Ryan for the first time. “We’re making progress. The Ashanti had to withdraw all their troops from the Menshara sector. And Zarillious V is ready too collapse with the right pressure. That’ll be a huge blow to them.” 

      It didn’t feel like it sometimes, Ryan thought bitterly. “I guess that’s what I get for working in recon, right? All the bad, and most of the time it seems to out weigh the good.”  

      Jon smiled, reaching out to brush greasy fingers against Ryan’s cheekbones. He couldn’t bring himself to mind the smudges they’d leave behind. “That’s what you got me for. Pull you out of the well of unsolvable problems, and point out the ones you can actually fix. Well, that and make sure you don’t get blown up,” Jon chuckled, waving vaguely at the shield generator.  

      Ryan snorted, leaning forward to rest his head against Jon’s shoulder. “My hero,” he teased, and Jon laughed, pulling him into a hug.  
   
      Warmth seeped into Ryan as he curled in against the older man. The perpetual cold of space never seemed to reach Jon, he was always warm and smelled of engines and soap and fabric. It soothed the nerves grated by wading through report after endless report. Gentle fingers against his jaw guided Ryan’s head up, and he melted into the kiss Jon offered.  

      Humming happily, Ryan let his hands drift up to tangle in Jon’s hair. Jon’s own fingers danced across Ryan’s jaw, up and down his neck as they kissed. Reluctantly, Jon broke away, nuzzling his nose against Ryan’s sweetly. It made Ryan laugh. “I shouldn’t leave the shields down,” Jon muttered against Ryan’s lips. Ryan nodded, leaning in to steal another kiss.  
   
      Laughing, Jon pushed Ryan away gently with hands braced against Ryan’s shoulders. “Seriously, Ry...” 

      Smiling at the nickname, Ryan sat back and let Jon work.    
\-----   
      This was the part Spencer hated most about being assigned to a battle ship. The Ashanti couldn't risk leaving survivors behind on colonies they'd made examples of. They felt it showed weakness. So, after every attack, the humans of the ship along with a couple of low ranking Ashanti officers, were sent down to the surface to make sure there was no one left alive. There never was. 

      Still, Spencer hated it. He hated walking through the wreckage of settlements, looking at the bits of lives destroyed in the blink of an eye. It always made him think of his own family, who he hadn't heard from since he was sixteen. It made him think of Ryan's family, murdered in the same way as these innocent people.  

      The sand was scorched under Spencer's regulation boots, blowing in the dry wind. The air smelled like ash and the stink of ozone split by the plasma gun. Silence was settled like a blanket over the land devoid of life. Spencer's chest ached as he looked around the ruins of the houses. 

      There wasn't much for him to do but wander through the buildings. He'd been on what felt like hundreds of these recons and there had never been anyone left alive. Absently, he made his way into the closest house. It was more intact then most of the house had been thus far. Spencer guessed that the family had probably been solar-farmers, collecting power from the sun to power the village. That would explain why the building might have had extra radiation shielding.  

      He moved slowly through the remnants of the house, looking around. Scattered on the floor were everyday objects; plates, mechanical tools, the occasional child's toy. Spencer winced, eyes fixing on the burnt remains doll lying by the table. This family had had children young enough to play with dolls and model ships.  

      Methodically, he picked his way toward the back of the dwelling. Towards the rear something caught Spencer's eye, tucked against the back wall. It was a musical instrument of some type Spencer didn't recognize. Protected in its little alcove, the instrument was mostly unharmed. Carefully, Spencer reached out to brush his fingers over it. 

      A clattering sound coming from behind him startled him, and he jerked his hand back from the instrument. He knew he was the only member of the landing crew in this area, the rest having spread out to other parts of the settlement. Cautiously, he looked around, hand falling to the club strapped to his side. Humans weren't allowed to have guns, but they were expected to bring any survivors to Ashanti officers, and were given clubs in case they need "subdue" anyone.  

      Moving quietly, Spencer made his way into the room from which the sound had originated. His eyes swept the room, taking in nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to dismiss the sound as over active imagination, then he noticed a small discoloration in the floor, barely discernible. 

      Spencer froze, eyes fixed on the patch of floor. These outer rim colonies were usually made up of simple structures, one floor sprawling out to make as much space as necessary, but very rarely moving up to two stories. Spencer had never heard of one with an underground floor. But maybe... this house had radiation shielding, which protected a lot of the interior. An underground level might not have been harmed at all. 

      Adrenaline shot headily through his veins as he moved towards the hidden trap door. It took less then a minute for him to shift the door up, and then he was face to face with the last thing he'd expected to see on this planet: a young human man.  

      Panic flashed across the young man’s face, and he was scampering back down into the cellar before Spencer had even over come the shock of finding him. The hidden room was small, barely tall enough for the man to stand in, and only wide enough to store what Spencer recognized as a solar power storage unit. He’d been right about the reason for the radiation shielding, anyway. 

      Spencer lowered the club he’d been holding, raising his hands out in front of him so the young man could see that he held no gun. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you,” Spencer assured, crouching down so he could see into the cellar.  

      Cautiously, the stranger came forward, dark eyes studying Spencer suspiciously. “You’re human,” the other man stated, eyes roving over Spencer’s face.  
   
      “I am,” Spencer nodded, trying to smile reassuringly, but his mind was racing frantically. He didn’t know what to do; he’d never even imagined a situation like this before. It was unheard of. Ashanti protocol dictated that he turn any survivors over to a supervisor, but as far as Spencer knew that was just textbook stuff. The thought of actually doing so made Spencer’s stomach twist, but finding anyone left alive was such an impossibility that Spencer wondered if this might be some kind of test of loyalty. It seemed like something the Ashanti might do. 

      The dark haired man spoke then, breaking Spencer from his thoughts. “What happened? The proximity alarms went off, and my mother sent me down here. She was going to find my sister and brother, she told me to wait for them. What’s happened?” 

      “You were attacked,” Spencer said quietly. 

      Fear and worry flashed across the young man’s features. “The colony, are they-?” 

      Spencer shook his head. “You’re the only one.” 

      The hurt that crumpled the other man’s face couldn’t be faked. Maybe Spencer was foolish to trust him, but... Spencer hated that he was always suspicious, always distrustful. It was an Ashanti quality, one they had drill into him by training him to instinctually think in tests and betrayals. Spencer swallowed, feeling cold all over. He didn’t want to loose his humanity. 

      “I’m Spencer,” he said, offering his hand down to help the other man out of the cellar. The dark haired man hesitated, looking up at Spencer with wide, scared eyes. “Trust me. I can help you.” 

      “Or you could turn me in,” the man said, eyes darting down to Spencer’s uniform then back up to his face. 

      Spencer flinched. “Anyone else would have raised an alarm already. You can take you chances with me or wait for someone else to find you.” 

      Cautiously, the man reached up, grabbing Spencer’s hand and pulling himself up. “Brendon,” he said, watching Spencer with guarded eyes. “My name’s Brendon Urie.” 

      Spencer nodded curtly, acknowledging the trust implicit in the statement. He was distracted, however, by trying to figure out what to do now. Ryan would help him, he knew that. The resistance often took in refugees, and Ryan would know a base near by where Brendon would be safe. However, getting the young man to Ryan would be a bit of an issue.  

      “How do you feel about stealing a ship?” Spencer asked, looking at Brendon. The transport craft that had carried the survey team down to the surface could be flown by one pilot, but Spencer would need Brendon’s cooperation if they were going to make it off the planet’s surface alive.  
   
      Brendon blinked at him. “It’s preferable to death.” 

      At any other time Spencer might have laughed. Now, he just nodded. “Stay with me and do exactly as I tell you.” 

      Moving through the deserted streets of the colony made Spencer edgy. He was the only guard sent to that sector, he knew, and yet he felt too exposed in the open. It would have been safer to walk in the shadows, near the skeletal ruins of the colony dwellings, but Spencer didn’t want to look like he was trying to move stealthily encase another guard did come along.  
   
      By the time they reached the small ship, Spencer was sweating from nerves. There shouldn’t have been anyone left on board, just a guard posted outside, but you could never be sure. Spencer guided Brendon into the doorway of an abandoned building facing the clearing where the ship had landed. “Stay here,” Spencer instructed, eyes darting back to the ship. “I need to get rid of the guard.” Brendon nodded. 

Squaring his shoulders, Spencer stepped out into the clearing, walking with purpose toward the ramp of the ship. The guard looked up as Spencer drew closer, and Spencer tried not to panic. The guard was an Ashanti, not a human as he had expected it to be. Still, he drew up his courage. He’d done more terrifying things before then face off against a single guard, even if the guard did have a plasma riffle.  

      Spencer walked straight up to the guard, hoping to use the element of surprise to his advantage. The guard looked weary, but not suspicious, and he didn’t raise his gun. Without pause, to think or second guess himself, Spencer grabbed his club, drawing it up over his head and bringing it crashing back down sharply at the base of the guards neck. The guard collapsed, falling to the ground without a sound. Quickly, Spencer grabbed the fallen Ashanti’s plasma riffle, throwing aside the club.  

      Turning, Spencer beckoned to Brendon, who dashed out from the doorway and ran towards the ship. Quickly, the two of them boarded the ship, and Spencer did a quick check to make sure there was no one else on board.  

      Looking to Brendon, Spencer asked, “You ever fired a plasma canon?”  
   
      Brendon shrugged a little. “We use skimmer mounted riffles to hunt animals in the desert. Should be the same principle.” 

      Spencer nodded. It would be better then nothing. If they were lucky, they would be able to get out of the planet’s gravity and jump into hyperspace before the Ashanti cruiser registered their presence on the scanners. Beckoning Brendon onto the small ship, Spencer guided him into the canon ports. “I really, really hope you won’t have to fire. But if you do, aim for the intake manifolds near the engines. It’s the weakest point in their shielding.” 

      Brendon swallowed nervously. “How many ships are here?” 

      “Only one on this part of the planet,” Spencer evaded, resting a steadying hand on Brendon’s arm. He hoped they wouldn’t be around long enough for the other ships to get involved. “Use the head set hook up to talk to me in the control room. I’ve got to head up there now.” Brendon just nodded.  
   
      Spencer had flown this kind of shuttles before, in his basic training and a couple times in the field, but never alone. In theory the ship could be run by one pilot but he’d never tried to do so. Picking up the headset, Spencer put it on, listening to the crackling white noise as it searched for a link up. “Can you hear me okay?” 

      “Yes,” came the response, small and tinny, but definitely understandable.  

      “Awesome, alright,” Spencer muttered, moving to adjust the restraint straps that would hold him in place during the take off and hyperspace jump. “Make sure you get buckled in, okay? We can’t really roam around until we’re in hyperspace. If we end up having to fight, we’ll have to go into zero G to make the ship more maneuverable.” 

      “Okay,” Brendon said calmly, followed by the distant sounds of the restraints strapping into place.  

      “Okay,” Spencer muttered, cracking his knuckles and reaching for the controls. “Here we go...”  
   
      Taking off from the planet was the easy part. There wasn’t anyone within range of the ship who would be alerted by the sounds of lift off, so they didn’t have to worry about being quiet. With the kind of ease that could only come from flight experience, Spencer coaxed the ship off the ground, keeping the thrusters level as the small craft rose into the air. 

      The colony, or what was left of it, spread on the ports as they gained altitude. Spencer was momentarily distracted by the soft swear in his ear. “Brendon?” he asked, concerned. 

      “Everything. They destroyed _everything_.” The other man’s voice was chocked with grief, and anger towards the Ashanti flashed through Spencer’s mind. 

      “I need you to focus, Brendon, or they’ll kill us too. Then no one will remember, know, or even care what happened here.” 

      Brendon mumbled some kind of affirmation, but Spencer had already stopped listening. He was punching up the external sensors on the computer input pad next to him. Hopefully, the Ashanti cruisers were in geosynchronous orbit over the settlement. If Spencer could fly the little ship into the planetary hemisphere still in the shadow of night on the other side of the world, and they might be able to use the planet’s gravitational field mask their hyperspace jump.  

      The sensors confirmed what Spencer had suspected, that the mother ship was hovering right above the destroyed colony. Sending a prayer to any deity, omnipotent life form or guiding spirit that might be listening, Spencer pulled ship up into the atmosphere.  
   
      “We’re going hypersonic,” Spencer said into the head set pick up.  
   
      The planetary surface flew by underneath them, but Spencer paid it no mind. Instead, he kept focused on the sensors, waiting until they were far enough from the bigger ship not to be noticed. A little light flashed in the corner of the control panel once they were at a sufficient distance. Deftly, Spencer pulled the ship up sharply, propelling them out of the planet’s atmosphere.  

      “This is where the fun begins. Hold on tight,” Spencer called to Brendon, dividing his attention between the sensor output and the controls to pull them into hyperspace. He selected a course at random; only making sure it took them out away from the Ashanti.  

      “Where are we going anyway?” Brendon asked, obviously nervous.  

      “Somewhere in the outer rim. There are resistance bases out there that we can lay low at until we figure out what to do,” Spencer explained, punching in the finial sequence. “Hold on, here we go,” he muttered, pushing forward a lever, sending the ship jumping into hyperspace. 

      Spencer let out a breath, leaning back into the seat and wiping off his forehead. “Okay, you can come up now,” Spencer said, pulling the head set off his head before throwing it onto the control panel. There wasn’t much for him to do now, until he could get a hold of Ryan and figure out what to do. The ship would fly itself until then. 

      At the sounds of movement behind him, Spencer swiveled around in his chair. Brendon was leaning against the door, face blank. _Shell shocked_ Spencer thought, and he smiled wearily at the other man.  

      “You look tired,” Spencer observed, and Brendon nodded mutely. “You should get some rest. We’re just going to fly around dead space for while, try to loose them. You think you can find the sleeping quarters on your own?”    
      Brendon nodded, and he started off, but paused. “Are you a resistance fighter?” he asked carefully. 

      Spencer hesitated for a moment. He’d never done much actually fighting for the resistance before, but he supposed the title fit now. “Yeah, I am.”   
\-----   
            An insistent beeping noise drew Ryan from his sleep and up into _The Camisado_ ’s cabin. Heart pounding in his chest and barely awake, Ryan tried to focus on locating the sound and determining what it meant. The ship had different chimes for different functions, but in his half asleep state Ryan didn’t recognize it.  
   
      He calmed down slight after checking the shields and sensor readouts. They weren’t under attack, nor were they losing life support systems because of a malfunction. His eyes scanned the control panels and stat displays until a small flashing light on the comm station caught his attention. No wonder he hadn’t recognized the chime, it was for an incoming transmission.  

      No one in the resistance ever contacted operatives in the field, mostly because no one could be sure that the person they were trying to contact had a secure line. Part of Ryan’s job was to check in with the nearest resistance location via subspace message whenever he felt safe doing so. No one ever contacted him.  

      Scrubbing his hands over his face in nervous frustration, Ryan glanced back towards the sleeping quarters where Jon still lay. Turning back to the monitor, Ryan keyed up the transmission encryption code, which doubled as a means of identification for resistance fighters. He hoped he’d be able to recognize the code. 

      To his surprise, he did. He opened transmission hastily, flicking it over to the main viewer. “Spencer?” 

      “Hey,” came the response, muffled a little by subspace, and the picture of a young blonde haired man appeared on the viewer. 

      A mix of joy and worry flood through Ryan. On the one hand, Ryan hadn’t seen or spoken to Spencer in half a year, other then through encrypted messages. On the other hand, it was very rare for Spencer to make an unscheduled transmission because it was so dangerous for him to do so. “Is everything alright?” Ryan asked, biting his lip.  

      Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m kind of in a jam, Ry...” 

      Ryan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Are you hurt? Do you need someone to get you out? Where are you, I can figure out how long it’s going to take for us to get to you but-” 

      “Ryan, breathe,” Spencer laughed, smiling affectionately at him through the the monitor. “I’m not hurt, and I don’t need to get out. Actually I kind of got myself out...” Spencer proceeded to explain about a mission, a colony being blow up, and an unlikely survivor. 

      “Survivor?” Ryan cut in, startled. “There are never survivors. We’ve seen hundreds of attacks like that.” 

      “I know,” Spencer nodded. “There was an underground floor and the house was protected by radiation shielding.” Ryan’s pulse rushed in excitement, filing the information away to report later. He listened as Spencer explained about rescuing the man and stealing a ship. Pride swelled within Ryan, that Spencer would always do anything he could to help another human being, but he bit it down so he could focus on his friend.  
   
      “So now I’ve got him out but I’m not entirely sure what to do with him. Do you know somewhere we can go to lay low at until the Ashanti stop looking for us?”

      Ryan hummed a little, pulling up a star chart on an auxiliary monitor. “Which direction did you leave Dalton IV in?” 

      Spencer paused, presumable to check star charts of his own. “We’re heading towards the outer rim, rather than in, if that’s helpful. 

      Ryan nodded absently. “That’s good. Inner-galactic ports are stepping up security.” He scanned the star map in front of him, mentally running through the list resistance bases he knew, and out of those, the ones he would trust. “There’s an out post on the 3rd moon of Mengyna in the Palascar system. It’s a small base, but I know the commander, Pete. You’d be safe there, if you could make it.” 

      Spencer nodded, eyes still fixed slightly off screen at his star charts. “I think I can.  Will they just let us stay there, though?” 

      Ryan shrugged. “You’re resistance, aren’t you? And even if your passenger isn’t, he’s a refugee and taking care of refugee’s is part of our job. There aren’t many soldiers there; it’s not a military camp. It’s an information and communication outpost. Actually, chances are you can be helpful to them. Sometimes it takes a while for information to reach the outer rim.” 

      Spencer nodded again. “Are you and Jon on assignment right now?” he asked after a moment. 

      Ryan shook his head. “No, we’re on patrol duty, but that’s sort of wishy-washy anyway. We’ve been meaning to find a place to dock so we can do some work on the ship and get supplies.” 

      “Think you could meet us on Mengyna 3?” Spencer asked, looking nervous. “I’m not used to this actual resistance fighter shit. Probably could use some help.” 

      Ryan smiled. “I don’t see why we couldn’t.” 

      Gratefully, Spencer smiled at Ryan from the monitor. “Thank you, Ryan.” 

      “What are friends for, right?” 

      Spencer nodded. “I suppose. I should go check on my passenger now though, make sure he’s okay.” 

      Ryan nodded, twinges of regret bubbling in his stomach. “It was good to hear from you.” 

      “See you soon.” 

      Ryan nodded, and ended the transmission. He sat back in his chair, pulling his legs up into the seat. If orbital attacks could be survived by a subterranean level and radiation shield, that would give the resistance a huge advantage against possible attacks. High risk out-posts could gain a new level of protection against orbital assault. Snagging a data pad off the console, Ryan began composing a report for his commander and contacts. He was so absorbed in the work that he didn’t notice Jon enter the cabin until the older man touched his shoulder gently.  

      “I thought we talked about this whole work insomnia thing,” Jon mumbled blearily, scooting Ryan over until they could both sit in the chair, tucked in close together. “You need to sleep more then these reports need to be filed, Ryan.” 

      Butting his head against Jon’s shoulder, Ryan smiled a little to himself. “I was asleep. Spencer called on subspace and it woke me up.”  
   
      “Is he alright?” Jon asked, sounding calm, but Ryan could hear the nervousness hidden beneath the untroubled tone.  

      Briefly, Ryan explained about the attack and the single survivor. “Spence got him out of there, but he didn’t know where to take him. I told him to head to Mengyna 3 and that we’d try to meet him there.” 

      Jon nodded, curling an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “That’s closer to them than us, right? Chances are they’re going to beat us there.” 

      “I’ll send a message to Pete so he’s expecting them.” Ryan shrugged. “There are other resistance ports around, but I don’t know anyone at them. I just...” 

      “Don’t want to send Spencer to people you don’t trust?” Jon asked dryly, a smile quirking his lips. Ryan laughed a little, nodding. “Pete’ll look after him. He owes you.” 

      “And I owe him,” Ryan muttered.  

      “He owes you more,” Jon said with a smile, kissing Ryan’s cheek softly.    
      Ryan smiled back, turning to tuck his face in against Jon’s neck. “You’re okay with going to Mengyna, yeah?” 

      “Do what you gotta do, flyboy,” Jon said, his tone fond and affectionate. “I’ll just make sure you get there in one piece.” 

\----- 

      Spencer didn't know much about the dark haired boy now sharing his ship. Aside from his name, Brendon, Spencer hadn't been able to get much out of him. He looked to be about Spencer’s age, maybe a bit younger.  

      The way Brendon was glued to the view port of the tiny ship, eyes wide in wonderment as he studied the stars, made it pretty obvious he'd never been off planet before. His silence was probably just shock, Spencer reasoned. After all, he'd just witnessed his home being blown up, everyone he knew and loved killed. He had nothing left. Sudden aches of sympathy shot down Spencer's spine.  

      Still, it felt wrong to disturb the boy’s silence, and Spencer approached him with caution.  

      “Hey,” He said quietly, speaking in the same soothing tone he’d heard Ryan use to coax spooked animals. “Are you hungry? I made some soup... I mean, it’s not real soup, just rations, pre-packaged ‘just add water’ shit, but... at least it’s warm?” Spencer finished lamely. Space was cold, and the little craft they’d stolen didn’t have a very good environmental system. As far as Spencer could tell, the atmospheric systems were working, so at least they had air, but the temperature was definitely running a little cool.  

      Brendon looked at Spencer warily, almost shyly, like he was waiting for something. Spencer just held out the steaming bowl towards him, hoping that the boy would just take it. He was so tiny, smaller then Ryan in stature, and just as thin. Spencer worried that if he didn’t eat he might just disappear. Cautiously, he took the bowl from Spencer, mutter a quiet but sincere “Thank you.” 

      Trying not to sigh with relief, Spencer slid onto the ledge of the view port across from the boy. He really wanted to talk to Brendon, to learn about the young man he’d saved. There was something about him that fascinated Spencer. He wasn’t sure how to begin though. Ryan was really the only friend he had, and Jon through Ryan. He hadn’t had to make an effort to get to know another person since childhood. Back then it had been as simple as being willing to share what you had, be it food, clothes, or the precious few toys the Ashanti let human children have. Spencer supposed he was trying the same tactic now, with the soup.  

      Maybe it was just human kindness that drew people together though, because after the first couple sips of soup, Brendon smiled carefully at him. It was a small smile, but it settled warmly in Spencer’s chest. Carefully, Brendon adjusted the bowl in his lap so he could shift to face Spencer a bit more. Still his eyes flitted out to the stars. They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Brendon said suddenly, quietly, “The stars look so much brighter out here.” 

      There was so much Spencer could say to that. He could explain how the atmospheres of planets dulled the stars. Hell, he could tell Brendon the entire life cycle of a star. Those were the kinds of things the Ashanti had taught him to think. Cold, hard facts deprived of emotion, because emotion made humans dangerous. Instead he just turned to look out at them.  

      “Yeah, they are,” he whispered. It had been a long time since he stopped to just look at the stars, without considering their position as an indication of his location. It had been a long time since he just _looked_. “Sometimes, you forget. How beautiful they are.”  
   
      “I hope I never do,” Brendon said, so quietly that Spencer wondered if Brendon was even talking to him at all. Spencer turned his own eyes back to the view port, secretly hoping as well that they’d never lose their magic for Brendon. 

      They finished their soup in relative silence. Spencer was acutely aware of Brendon near him, but not in the way he was accustomed. He was used to being cautious, alert and watchful, in case someone suddenly decided he was expendable. With Brendon his was simply aware of the other body sharing his space, aware of Brendon’s shifts and movements. When Brendon trained his eyes on Spencer’s face, eyes clear with intent, Spencer turned back to look at him. 

      “Thank you,” Brendon said, tone serious. “Thank you for saving me. I don’t have anything I can pay you for the passage with, but maybe, sometime, I can get a job somewhere and then-” 

      Spencer shook his head quickly, motioning for Brendon to stop, because that wasn’t what this was about. Not at all. Brendon had it all wrong. Careful, Spencer set his empty bowl aside, and shifted a bit closer to Brendon, so he could look the other boy in the eye.  

      “My friend Jon has a saying,” he began, “He says that what makes humans and Ashanti different is that humans protect and love each other. He says that if one human doesn’t help another when they need it then we lose our humanity. You don’t have to pay me back, Brendon. That’s not what this is about.” 

      Brendon looked at Spencer warily. “Nothing comes for free.”  

      Spencer sighed, looking down. That was a colony kid speaking. Colony life was rough, especially on colonies run by the Ashanti. Ryan sounded like that so often, so reluctant to trust, to except and not ask about the price. It was what made him such a good freedom fighter, the main reason he wasn’t dead. Still, knowing the reason for Brendon’s misgivings didn’t make them any easier to swallow. He would just have to do his best to help Brendon learn to trust him. 

      Locking his eyes with Brendon’s, he said with surety “I’m not going to ask anything from you, Brendon. I’m gonna get you to a safe base, and then you’re free to do whatever you like.” He hesitated, then smiled a little. “I would like to be your friend though. I haven’t had many before.” 

      Brendon nodded a little, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Me neither,” he whispered, and Spencer could see a little bit of the tension drain out of him. Carefully, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the back of Brendon’s hand. The other man didn’t jerk away, which was a good sign, but his skin was cool to the touch. 

      Suddenly, it occurred to Spencer that Brendon had grown up on a desert planet. If the shipped seem cold to Spencer, who’d spent at least half his life in space, he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to Brendon. “Fuck, you must be freezing!” he muttered, rubbing his fingers over the skin of Brendon’s hand, trying to warm it up a bit. His eyes took in Brendon’s thin shirt, and he shivered in sympathy. 

      “Kinda,” Brendon laughed nervously. 

      Shaking his head, Spencer stood up. He didn’t let go of Brendon’s hand though, and pulled gently, urging him to stand. “Come on. They’ll be some thermal over-shirts around here somewhere.”  

      Brendon still looked a bit wary, but he allowed himself to be lead towards the living space of the small ship, and when Spencer slackened his grip on Brendon’s hand enough so that he could pull away if he wanted to, he didn’t. Spencer smiled a little, liking the feeling of Brendon’s palm against his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from LiveJournal for archival purposes.


End file.
